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The personal journal of Juan Mendoza
The personal journal of Juan Mendoza January 1, 2090. Before he left, my mentor, Ceannaire Múinteoir suggested that keeping a journal would help me keep track of reality. Its been twenty five years since humanity had its first extraterrestrial contact. The Elan claim the trigger was our first interstellar flight, and event which earned us a seat on the galactic stage. Within a year of the Launch of the ISS (International Space Ship) Hope (aka NEI Esperanza, MKK Nadezhda, GTF Xīwàng, ISM Matumaini, AAJ Asa, etc...) a new light appeared in the sky over Geneva Switzerland and the first official visitors to Planet Earth announced their desire to meet us. It was a little strange at first, the Elan were so...good. I suspect it comes from being a race of empaths. They live in each other's minds so much, that they find it difficult to do another harm, event the thought of violence can paralyze an Elan into insensibility. During the first meeting with Earth's leaders, the Elan put forth their requests. They would send teachers in medicine, biology, agriculture, chemistry, the arts, and philosophy. In return we would allow them access to our people, to build schools and teach at our institutions. Many were suspicious of this altruism at first, but the offers of near miracle cures and limitless food tipped the scales in the Elan's favor. Over the next four years the Elan baked themselves into every aspect of human life they could stomach. For their part, suffering across the globe began to disappear, easy access to food and medicine raised everyone's quality of life. Scientific advancement leapt forward. As promised the Elan opened schools of their own, and they were very selective in their recruitment. At first no one could determine their selection criteria, but given the wonders the students had access to, once the offer was made none turned it down. I was one of those chosen. I was born in the heart of Mexico City, in the absolute depths of poverty. I grew up in an orphanage run by the Catholic church and fully expected to take my vows once I came of age. All that changed the day the Elan showed up to talk to the orphans. One by one we were given the opportunity to talk to the strange, beautiful and gentle creatures. I say talk, but the Elan do not "speak" as such and communicate by means of whispers in your mind. When it was my turn, I entered the small room, Father Gonzales office, usually reserved for unruly or troubled children. My attention was immediately drawn to the three tall, slender, almost willowy beings with pearly white skin, luminescent blue eyes set too high and wide in their head, no ears or visible nose and only a small slit for a mouth. Despite their differences they were both fascinating and elegant. A small whisper in my head, not my own inner voice suggested I sit, even though none of the Elan adopted that pose. I followed the suggestion and sat in the small wooden chair, presumably provided for this purpose. What followed was less of a conversation than an exam, as the three beings, gently, took turns exploring the strangest details of my life. They explored how I felt when I woke, whether I like animals, how I felt about the other children at the orphanage and so on. It seems they did not care about the answers either as they did not let me start answering a question let alone finish answering one. After twenty minutes I was bewildered but relaxed (a strange feeling). The Elan thanked me and asked me to step out and send in the next child. I complied with their request, strangely contented despite my bafflement. Before the Elan left Father Gonzales came to me and asked if I would like to study with the Elan. After overcoming my shock I jumped at the chance. The next ten years were a blur as I learned to harness the powers of my mind. I discovered that my earlier insights and dreams were related to a nascent psychic talent for extra sensory perception. Other children at the Elan's school possessed a wide range of talents, but we all learned to send and receive thoughts as well as guard our minds from unwanted attention. It was a good life, I grew to respect the wisdom and patience of the Elan. We were preparing to serve humanity and prepare it to become a peaceful and productive member of the galactic community. That was, until we discovered the rest of the story. A fleet of ships appeared in the skies above our planet, a fleet of the saurian Vargar, an entire species of Darwinian pirates, brigands and thieves who looted instead of developed and focused on destruction instead of creation. The Vargar had quiet negotiation with the Elan which resulted in the abrupt departure of the Elan. The Vargar quickly wiped out our withered militaries, devastated population centers, and subjugated the rest of us as a cheap source of labor in life and a meal in death. It has been ten years since the Vargar landed, the human race is but a shadow of what it once was, but after years of covert training with the last Elan on the planet, we are finally ready to strike back. -- We are one of 50 teams from the Center in Nepal who have fanned out over the globe to begin to strike back. Our team has been tasked to travel to America, make contact with the local resistance and assist however possible. We have been given a contact (Mathias Carter) a time, 1200 and a place (77th Street station, Manhattan). Our contact will approach you. We embarked on a cargo ship in Calcutta and a month later arrived in New York City. Whatever New York had been before the invasion, now it was a blasted husk, a shadow of its former greatness. Aside from a strange quiet to the devastated city, the ruined remains of its once majestic skyline gave mute testament to the violence offered by the saurian invaders. We made our way through the ruined city, passing the dispirited inhabitants and the occasional giant conqueror. Each of the Vargar was heavily built and in the 8 to 9 foot tall range, covered in armor and bearing heavy weapons. They largely ignored our group as we made our way to the subway stop. {The story opens in the New York Subway on a train approaching the 77th Street station} Category:Empire of Man